


He's No Romeo

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Age Difference, Alien anatomy, Anxiety, Canon Related, First Time Bottoming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 06:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16258340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Doctor Julian Bashir quickly comes to realize that catching a Cardassian's romantic interest is much easier than learning to live with one, particularly one as complex and secretive as Elim Garak, and that a relationship between members of political rivalries is not for the faint of heart.





	He's No Romeo

**Part I**

_Garak_  
Garak's Quarters  
2370 

Garak listened to the deep, even breathing of his new lover at his side, as astounded by the heat of the man as he was by how quickly Julian managed to fall asleep. He carefully rolled from his back to his side, lifting to an elbow and propping his cheek in his palm. How innocent the doctor looked in his unguarded moment, his strangely smooth face so child-like. Garak had given up on getting any sleep that night despite being tired. Every subtle shift and vocalization of the man at his side jolted him from his few light dozes. He wondered if he would ever become accustomed to having another in his bed or even if he should.

The troubling specter of Tain returned to him now in the quiet darkness, appropriate timing given the nature of the man. He wanted Garak to suffer, and he had gone to great lengths to insure that the torture continued unabated. The possibility that he might try to take Julian away from Garak was very real and even somewhat likely. Garak gently traced the curve of Julian's brow. The man didn't even flinch or stir. He frowned. Was it fair of him to drag such an innocent into his dangerous world where the stakes were always high, and everyone played for keeps? Like it or not, if Julian became closely involved with him, he would be exposed to everything Garak risked. Indeed, he would be a target of the Cardassian's many determined enemies. Little wonder Tain had always warned him of emotional attachments and family ties. Had his father felt this conflicted about Mila? It was difficult to imagine, but given his own very existence, he knew it must be so.

It was hard enough looking out for himself and keeping his own skin intact, even with the benefit of all of his training and honed instincts. Julian was the proverbial babe in the badlands, and the badlands were full of far worse hunters than honges. He sighed softly. He had to believe that the doctor was up to the task of learning all that he needed to teach him. He would simply have to accelerate the program. He turned over and settled his back against his companion, tensing at first when Julian's arm snaked about his waist and eventually relaxing. Yes, sleeping with someone was going to take a lot of work to get used to.

_Julian_

Julian awoke from a deeper sleep than he had experienced in a long time. Muttering softly, he slid his hand over the empty pillow beside him. His eyes opened fully with the sudden realization that he was not in his quarters followed swiftly by the awareness that he was alone in Garak's bed. He sat up in the dimly lit bedroom, the covers slipping from his chest and settling in a rumpled heap over his lap. “Computer,” he said, “what time is it?”

“06:32,” came the response.

At least he wasn't running late. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to relieve himself then wandered naked into the sitting room only to find Garak fully clothed, sipping from a mug, and reading a PADD. Julian's clothes lay neatly folded on one of the dining chairs. Garak glanced up at him. “Good morning, Doctor,” he said pleasantly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” he answered. He wanted to close the distance between them and kiss Garak good morning, but for some reason the impeccable outfit reminded him of armor, the PADD a shield. “You?”

“Yes. Thank you for asking,” he said, setting the PADD aside and standing. “I was waiting on breakfast until you were awake. What would you like?” He set his mug aside on the small dining table.

“Toast and eggs would be nice,” Julian answered. He felt awkward naked with Garak clothed, so he approached to at least put on his pants. As he neared the table, a terrible stench had him pulling a face. “Good lord, Garak, what is that you're drinking?”

“Hmm?” the tailor glanced at him over his shoulder. “Oh, that's rokassa juice. I like it warm in the mornings. It's much better than fish juice, if you ask me.”

Fish juice? Julian mouthed to himself and shuddered. “What is 'rokassa', dare I ask?” he said, peering into the depths of the mug at the murky orange-ish liquid. It looked about as appetizing as it smelled in his opinion. He slid his pants upward and fastened them then went ahead and pulled his tunic over his head. It didn't seem likely Garak intended to be affectionate that morning.  _Maybe he's not a morning person,_  he thought, although he doubted that was the issue. If not, what was?

“It's a type of fruit that grows on Cardassia,” he answered. “Very calming for the nerves. How do you want your eggs?”

“Are you nervous about something?” Julian asked in a lighter tone than he felt. “Oh, over easy, please.”

Garak gave the order and turned to hand him the plate. “Should I be?” he asked, lifting an eye ridge archly.

“Of course not,” he said, rolling a shoulder and accepting the plate. “At least not that I know of.” He sat at the table and waited for Garak to replicate his breakfast. One thing he hadn't given much thought to was how strong most Cardassian food smelled, not at all in a pleasant way. It was going to take some getting used to, sitting across from that and eating his own breakfast with any degree of appetite. He picked at his toast as Garak took his seat. “Is...something wrong, Garak?” he asked, hazarding a glance upward.

“No, my dear,” he answered, meeting Julian's gaze squarely. “Why? Am I giving that impression?”

“Not exactly,” he said, unsure of what he wanted to say or even why he felt uneasy.

“Inexactly?” Garak asked, tilting his head.

“No,” he said, snorting a soft laugh. “It's probably nothing. I suppose, well...I guess I thought things would be a little more...intimate this morning after the night we had,” he said. “I didn't expect to awaken alone in the bed, and when I came out here, you were already dressed and looked as though I was holding you up from starting your day.”

“Ah, I see,” Garak said. He took a bite of his food and a thoughtful sip of his juice. “I'm a creature of habit in many ways,” he said carefully. “You may have already noticed this, but demonstrativeness does not come easily or naturally to me.”

“I've noticed,” Julian said, smiling slightly. He felt himself easing a little at Garak's explanation. It made perfect sense. It was foolish of him to expect that the tailor would change his mannerisms overnight just because their relationship had deepened past friendship. He would have to make some allowances for Garak's reservations, just as he hoped that Garak would make some allowances for his own tendency to be very affectionate with his partners. “I just wanted to be sure you weren't having regrets.”  _Or changing your mind,_  he thought worriedly. He tried to read the look in the bright blue eyes, but as was so often the case, the Cardassian was a complete cypher.

“Are you?” he asked lightly.

“Having regrets? No,” Julian said. “I'm having a hard time believing last night even happened, but I don't regret it. I'm wondering how the others will react, though.”

“Others?” Garak asked, setting his mug down and directing more of his attention directly at the doctor.

“Yes,” he answered. “You know, Dax, the Chief, Major Kira.” He paused, not at all liking that look. “What?” he asked.

To his surprise, Garak stood up and circled the table to stand behind him. He looked up and over his shoulder, only to feel the hands that had given him such pleasure the night before settling to his shoulders and kneading with an intimate, familiar touch. Try as he might, he couldn't help but to relax into it and close his eyes. “I'll give you all week to stop that,” he murmured.

“Julian,” Garak said, his tone as caressing and intimate as his hands, “it has been a very long time since I've had anything good to myself. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“You want me to keep what we've done quiet,” he said, his brows knitting slightly.

“For now,” Garak replied, kissing his ear lightly and making him shiver. “Besides, don't you think it will be fun sharing this? Our secret? You're always saying I'm hiding things. This time, you're the only other one in the know,” he whispered, his breath warm and destroying Julian's ability to concentrate.

He wasn't unobservant enough not to know that he was being manipulated, skillfully at that. However, what Garak said had appeal to him on several levels. What harm could it do to keep things discreet? It would make the times they did come together that much more exciting, particularly trying to escape the notice of people like Odo and Quark, the first uncannily observant, the latter unabashedly nosy. 

He smiled and lifted his hands to cover Garak's, pulling the man down for a languid, lingering kiss. “All right, Garak,” he said. “We'll play it your way, for now.”  _You're not the only one with secrets,_  he thought, feeling his heart skip a beat with more than desire. He hadn't even considered how difficult it would be to keep his own secret past from the tailor now that they were intimate. He kissed him again, much harder and hungrier. Two could play the distraction game. His was so involved it made both of them late for work.

Garak was right. Sharing such a delicious secret with him was indeed fun. It charged their public lunches with subtext, each subtly attempting to provoke the other without calling attention to themselves. He had to admit that Garak was light years ahead of him when it came to the art of wicked innuendo wrapped in innocent commentary. He was determined to improve and perhaps one day catch the man flat footed, however unlikely that seemed.

He did his best to give the Cardassian plenty of space and privacy, as hard as it was to stay away. He didn't believe he'd get very far if he started pushing too hard, and in truth, he wasn't sure he was ready to open further. For every sporadic act of intimacy, he came to realize he paid a price in being pushed back the next day. If Garak was having that much trouble trusting him, how could he really trust Garak? Besides, if he let him too close, he'd have the urge to tell him everything. If he couldn't resist that urge, who knew what damage his secret could do not only to their relationship but to his entire life as he knew it? Their odd holding pattern was better than nothing and not without its significant pleasures and rewards. Why rock that boat prematurely?

One pleasant side effect of trying to give Garak space involved his deepening friendship with Miles. Beneath the gruff, no-nonsense exterior, he found someone with a sense of fun and adventure similar to his own. Best of all, the man played a mean game of darts. Julian didn't have to hold back much of his skill in order to make their games challenging.

“One more,” the Chief said, losing his third game out of five to the doctor.

Julian laughed. “I'm afraid I've had my fill. Let's have another drink, instead.”

Nodding, O'Brien gestured him ahead of him to the bar. The two of them sat in the midst of the crowd and ordered a couple of pints. “You've finally given up on Dax, then?” O'Brien asked in an offhanded way.

“Pardon?” Julian asked innocently.

“Come off it,” the Chief snorted. “You can't fool me. You know exactly what I'm talking about.” He paused for a sip of his stout. “You haven't mentioned her except in passing for weeks now, and I haven't seen you hit on her in Ops in forever and a day. You have your eye on somebody else, or did you just finally come to your senses?”

He hadn't realized that he had been acting any differently, and it was troubling to think that it was obvious enough that even Miles had noticed it. He wondered who else might be wondering the same thing. “I suppose I just came to my senses,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Hnh,” O'Brien muttered and took a deeper swig.

“What's that supposed to mean?” the doctor asked, lifting a brow.

“Oh, nothing,” the bluff man said, waving it away.

“Hardly,” Julian pressed, turning in his bar chair to face him.

“There,” the Irishman jabbed a thick finger in his direction. “You don't give up. It's not like you.”

_Damn, he's more observant than I realized,_  Julian thought in consternation. “All right,” he muttered, his mind racing. What could he say to throw him off the trail? How would Garak handle this?  _A lot more smoothly than you are,_  he thought ruefully. “Maybe I do have my eyes on someone else,” he said, looking off into the crowd and taking a slow swallow of his synth ale. 

“Thought so,” O'Brien said with satisfaction. “Who is she?”

A sudden thought struck Julian, and he almost laughed aloud. It was plausible enough. The woman was very attractive. The only problem was she was likely to take his head off if this got back to her. He leaned in very close to Miles and whispered.

The man's eyes flew wide. “What? Are you off your nut?”

“What can I say?” Julian shrugged and smirked. “She has a cute nose.”

“It's your funeral,” O'Brien said, shaking his head and punctuating his point with a swig from his pint glass.

_Garak  
Garak's Clothiers_

It was official. Julian and Major Kira were very late in returning from their mission to the Gamma Quadrant. Although the doctor had been coy with Garak about the nature of the mission, he had been quite clear about when they were expected to return. Garak tried not to worry as he finished up his business for the day and closed shop. It was possible they had actually already returned and that Julian had his own business to attend in the infirmary. His schedule kept him far busier than Garak, and the tailor knew better than to try to demand more time with him, particularly when it came to his duties as an officer.

After locking up for the night, he strolled down to the infirmary and ducked his head inside. He recognized the nurse on duty as someone who was aware that he and the doctor often met for lunch and occasionally dinner. “Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but has Doctor Bashir returned, by any chance?”

She glanced up at him, startled from studying a chart. “I...” she said, blinking rapidly. “I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't think I'm allowed to tell you anything.”

_That would be a “no”,_  Garak thought darkly. He smiled and inclined his head. “That's quite all right. Thank you for your time.” He stood just outside the doorway and considered his options. He could always try to hack into the computer system, but was such a drastic step really warranted yet? They were several hours late, not days, and if he did get caught, it would be very difficult if not impossible to talk his way out of it. Asking any of the Starfleet officers was out of the question. They wouldn't tell him anything, and they'd wonder why he asked to begin with. He knew they didn't approve of his association with the doctor. He didn't want to make Julian's job any more difficult than it already was.

In the end, he settled on trying Quark. The Ferengi kept his fingers in several pies around the station. If Garak played it carefully, he might learn something. If Quark didn't know, he wouldn't be out anything for the asking. He settled his features to mild annoyance and hurried down the Promenade to the bar. As he stepped through the wide entrance, he glanced about swiftly. Sighing, he wove through the early dinner crowd and took a seat at the bar, still looking around from that vantage.

“Garak, always a pleasure. What can I get you this evening?” Quark asked, approaching as he polished a glass.

Garak gave a final look before giving a small start and turning his attention to Quark. “Hm?” he asked, raising his brow ridges.

Quark leaned an elbow on the bar top and set the glass aside. “Looking for someone?”

“Oh, no,” Garak said, waving him off. “I'll have a glass of kanar, please.” He smiled pleasantly. As soon as Quark turned his back, he started craning his head once more.

He smiled inwardly as Quark's voice dropped to a more secretive tone. “If you are looking for someone, I might be able to help you, unless it's something I shouldn't know about?”

Garak turned back to him, glanced about to make sure no one was standing too close to them, and said, “Well, I really shouldn't say anything. It would just be embarrassing to the doctor.” He took the kanar glass and slid a bar of latinum across the bar top.

“Ah, you're looking for Doctor Bashir,” Quark said, taking the money. “I haven't seen him in a couple of days. It has something to do with starting a hospital on the new colony in the Gamma Quadrant. I didn't pay that much attention. You know how he goes on.”

“Yes,” Garak said, sipping his kanar. A dangerous glitter came to his eyes. “He's very tiresome at times.” He no longer had to feign irritation. Julian told Quark more about his mission than he did Garak, so obviously it wasn't some sort of Federation secret. Just as quickly, he let the irritation go. Wasn't he always chiding the man for being too trusting? He should consider the fact that he hadn't been told an improvement, not a slap in the face. He smiled faintly and took another sip. There was hope for the man after all, assuming of course that he was all right.

“You said it would be embarrassing?” Quark prodded him, curiosity plain in the curve of his toothy smile.

“My dear man, I said no such thing,” Garak said firmly with the sort of smile he found few dared to question. It worked like a charm. The Ferengi bartender quickly backed down and moved on to another customer. Garak finished his kanar and left the bar for his quarters. 

When several more hours passed with still no word from the doctor and no answer to his communication hails to his quarters, he decided that now he had good reason to be worried. Being unable to ask anyone was positively maddening. In the end, he decided to take a peek in the computer system after all. He felt fairly confident that he wouldn't be caught. He wasn't happy with what he discovered, that the Rio Grande's warp signature had been found along with the trace of a plasma leak, but that there was no sign of the ship or debris in the Gamma Quadrant or the wormhole. “Where are you?” he murmured, his stomach feeling leaden.

_Julian  
USS Rio Grande_

Doctor Bashir almost couldn't believe that he and Major Kira had made it back from that bleak parallel dimension in one piece. He yawned and rubbed tiredly at his filthy face before turning his attention back to the controls and helping the Bajoran officer pilot the runabout back to the docking ring. Neither of them had said much on the return trip, both wrapped in their thoughts of what they had experienced and the implications of it all. Although at the beginning of their return trip, before everything had gone so terribly wrong, he had decided to further the ruse that he was now interested in Kira instead of Dax, he felt no desire to continue it. What he wanted more than anything in that moment was to see Garak, his Garak, so that he could exorcise the memory of that other brutish Garak, a thug who possessed just enough of his lover's cunning to resemble him in a twisted, frightening way on more than a physical level.

“Hey,” Kira said more gently than was usually her wont, “are you OK?”

Glancing at her, he nodded tightly. He was far from it, but she wasn't the one he wanted to confide in, the one he needed. “Are you?” he asked.

She nodded, and he could tell that she was being as dishonest with him as he with her. They docked the damaged craft and stepped back into the comforting embrace of Deep Space Nine. He hadn't realized just how much he had come to view the place as home before encountering the dark, oppressive Terok Nor. He glanced at Kira as they walked together toward debriefing. What was it like for her, he wondered, to have memories of this place as an ore processing center under the brutal boot heel of the Cardassian Union and to live here now as it was? He decided he might ask her one day, but not today.

When they reached the central core, Commander Sisko took one look at the doctor and said, “Go get cleaned up and rest. This can wait until morning.” He turned his attention to Kira. “Major, do you need some time?”

She glanced at Julian and shook her head, looking odd and out of place in a purple evening gown. “No, Commander,” she said. “Let's go ahead and get this over with.”

Julian gratefully left them, hurrying into the turbo lift and heading for the habitat ring. He wondered if Garak had been worried about him. Even though he intended to go to his quarters to get cleaned up first, instead it seemed his feet had a mind of their own. Within a few minutes, he was outside Garak's quarters, filthy, aching, exhausted, and dehydrated. He triggered the hail without hesitation.

The door opened almost instantly, revealing, despite the late hour, a fully dressed and very concerned looking Cardassian. That concern deepened as soon as his eyes lit upon Julian. “Oh, my dear,” he said, seizing him by the elbow and guiding him into the low lit sitting room. “Sit down right here,” he directed, taking him to the sofa.

Julian half sat, half collapsed, wondering how he had managed to stay on his feet for as long as he had. He hardly heard Garak at the replicator. A moment later, he had a glass in his hand and was being helped to drink. The taste was unusual but not unpleasant. “What is this?” he asked.

“It's something to help hydrate you faster,” Garak replied, “an electrolyte solution we give to our soldiers in the field.” He was a solid, comforting presence seated right next to Julian, and his hand on the glass remained steady even when the doctor's faltered. “Don't gulp it down. I know you want to. If you drink it too fast, it will just come right back up and make you worse.”

He was grateful for the low lighting as he felt like one raw nerve. He nodded and allowed Garak to pace him with the drink, accepting a second once he had finished the first. He did feel a little better, finding he had the strength to sit up a little straighter and hold the glass by himself. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm getting your couch all filthy, and I know how you can't abide dirt in your quarters.”

“Nonsense,” Garak tsked and shook his head. “You stay right there as long as you need to.” He squeezed his knee gently and left his hand there.

“Aren't you going to ask me what happened?” he asked after a few moments.

“You'll tell me when you're ready,” Garak replied. “I'm much more interested in the fact that you're here now in one piece than in taxing you by asking you to relive something that was plainly difficult.”

Unbidden tears stung Julian's eyes but refused to fall. In all of his imagining, he hadn't expected the tailor to be nearly this kind or understanding. It went a long way toward driving the memory of that other Garak out of the fore of his thoughts. He looked deep into the shadowed blue eyes that had never left him since they sat together and set his glass on the floor beside his feet. “I'd...like to be held,” he said hesitantly, “for just a while, if you don't mind. You probably want me to bathe first, though. I know I smell awful.”

He could've sworn reproach flashed briefly in Garak's eyes just before he took him into his arms and cradled him just as he was, dirt, stink and all. He didn't intend to fall asleep, and yet he must have, for the next he was aware he was cleaner and dressed in clothing that didn't fit properly at all, too loose in the waist and neck and too long in the sleeves. He lay on the sofa with a pillow under his head and a soft blanket draped over his shoulders and tucked beneath his sock clad feet. Lifting his head, he saw Garak seated close by, alert and attentive. “What time is it?” Julian asked thickly, trying to shake the cobwebs of exhaustion from his mind.

“Don't worry,” the tailor replied. “I won't allow you to oversleep. You have some time yet to rest.”

He wanted to protest. His body would have none of it. Resting his head back on the pillow, he closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, it was to the sensation of his hair being stroked back from his forehead. Garak knelt beside him, close enough that his clean, pleasingly exotic scent lingered in and tickled his nose. “I'm sorry to have to awaken you, dear,” he said, “but if you're expected to report to duty today, you're going to need to get up now. I took the liberty of cleaning your uniform. I didn't have time to mend it, though.”

He felt the sting of those tears again, his emotions all over the place as a result of his ordeal. How had he ever doubted that this man cared for him? Just because Garak wasn't prone to sweet whispers and public displays of affection, it didn't mean he didn't feel. He vowed that he'd remember this, particularly in the times that his lover seemed distant. “You didn't have to do that,” he said, his voice a bit thick.

“I know,” Garak said, giving his hair a final stroke and standing. “Why don't you go take a shower? I couldn't clean you up as much as you need without awakening you. When you get out, I'll have you some breakfast ready.”

He nodded and did as he was asked. He stayed in the shower much longer than usual and wondered how long it would take before he felt truly clean or like himself again. As he stepped out, he noticed several bruises in the mirror along his torso, arms, and yes, his back, too. He thought of all the slaves they had been forced to leave behind and frowned deeply. Had they managed to do any good, or had they just made things worse? He wasn't eager to return to try to find out. He dressed in his shabby uniform, marveling at how clean it was. With a stab of guilt, he realized that Garak must not have gotten any sleep at all.

The smell of eggs, toast, and sausage greeted him upon his return to the sitting room. There was no trace of Cardassian food on Garak's table and only one plate. “Aren't you eating?” he asked.

Garak shook his head. “I'll eat once you've left,” he said. “I know my food doesn't exactly agree with you, and it's important that you get something in you. I do hope they won't be expecting you to put in a full day's work,” he said critically. “You need time to rest and recover.”

“I don't think they will,” he reassured him. “Commander Sisko just wants me to come in for a debriefing. Unless there's a severe medical emergency, I plan to take the rest of the day off.”

“Good,” he said, puttering about while Julian sat down to eat. “You know how to find me if you need anything.”

He tried not to wolf down the food, but it wasn't easy to control himself. His body had been deprived of nutrients and overworked for far longer in that mirror universe than he had been missing in this one. “I'll probably sleep all day,” he said between bites. “I would like company after you get off work, though. There are some things about what happened that I need to talk about. I'm not sure you're going to like them.”

“I don't like sending you away perfectly healthy and seeing you come back looking like a prisoner of war,” Garak said a bit tartly. “If those new colonists did this to you—oh, don't look so startled. Quark told me about it when I was looking for you. If they did, I might have something to say about it.”

“You were looking for me?” he asked, wanting to hide his smile and unable to prevent it.

The look Garak shot him was priceless. “Eat your breakfast, Doctor,” he said dryly. “Hunger has obviously disarrayed your mind.”

Julian finished up, gave him a quick kiss, and returned to his quarters in time to don his spare uniform. As he suspected he would, the Commander relieved him of duty for the day after the thorough debriefing. He had never been so happy to be in his pajamas and in his own bed than when he was allowed to return to his quarters. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow and didn't awaken again until his door chime dragged him out of troubled dreams. It took him a bit to remember that he had told Garak to come by after work. Had he truly slept all day? “Enter,” he said, rubbing his eyes and slowly sitting up. “I'm back here in the bedroom,” he called.

Garak appeared in the doorway, holding a flat box wrapped with a festive ribbon and looking at him very crossly. “Did you even know who was at your door?” he asked.

“I knew you'd be coming by after work,” Julian answered a little defensively.

“Did you also know what time it is?” Garak demanded.

The doctor sighed. “Garak, could you please give it a rest right now? I'm still very tired.”

“Exactly the moment an enemy would choose to strike you,” the tailor said pointedly. “Honestly, Doctor, I could've been anyone. Would it hurt you to be a little more careful? It could hurt you if you aren't.”

“Your concern is touching,” he said a little flatly, annoyed. “What's in the box?”

“Open it and find out,” he said, closing the distance to the bed and offering it.

He took it and eyed Garak askance. Was this another one of his tests? Obligingly, he shook the box first and tapped the lid. Garak rolled his eyes and looked away. “How melodramatic,” he said, sounding very put upon. “Hardly the way to treat a present.”

Julian's lips twitched with reluctant amusement. He pulled the ribbon off the box and opened it, only to find a lovely pair of new pajamas folded neatly inside. “You made these?” he asked as he pulled them out. The fabric was very soft and light, some sort of silk, he figured, but he didn't know such things nearly as well as the tailor. They were deep forest green with subtle threading of gold, just enough to make them shimmer when the light hit them but not enough to be gaudy.

“Do you really think I'd give you something ready made?” the tailor huffed. “Of course I did. I wasn't going to give them to you yet, but after seeing some of those bruises, I decided you'd appreciate something gentle on your skin.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Julian asked, touched more than he could say.

“Don't expect that I'll let you do much while you're in that state,” Garak replied breezily, a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

“Very funny,” he snorted and climbed out of the bed. “I want to put these on, and then we need to talk.” He felt a little self-conscious about his battered body, so he stepped into the bathroom to change. If Garak thought anything of it, he didn't give any indication of such, a fact for which the doctor was grateful. The pajamas were hands down the most comfortable clothing he had ever owned. He marveled at the perfect fit, just enough flow for comfort, not so much that they would twist on him in his sleep. They were also flattering. Leave it to his lover and his impeccable taste to be able to create flattering pajamas! “What do you think?” he asked as he stepped out and turned all the way around.

“I think I may have to rethink my notion of keeping you from getting too active,” Garak said, his smile completely wicked.

Julian laughed, startled by the sudden tease. He had to hand it to Garak. He kept him on his toes, always. He climbed back into his bed and patted the thin mattress to encourage the tailor to come sit with him. The man did so, facing him and sitting cross legged at the foot of the bed. “What happened to me and Major Kira didn't happen on New Bajor,” he began. “In fact, it didn't happen in this universe at all.”

He related the entire account from start to finish, holding nothing back, how they encountered mirror versions of many people they knew, how Kira was fortunately given more freedom, how he was worked as a slave. It was harder for him to talk about that universe's Garak, but with his Garak's gentle encouragement, he managed to get it all out. It was so strange to him how Garak could be so completely closed off and hard to read most of the time and yet so incredibly easy to talk to. He felt better when he was finished, for although he had been thorough during his debriefing, he had shared nothing about how he had felt, how frightening it had been, the threat of hopelessness, the horror of killing that universe's Odo, the overriding fear that they might never return to their own world, that they would never get home. He suddenly realized that in some ways, what he had experienced was what Garak faced every single day. He stopped talking and searched the other man's gaze, reaching across the short expanse of the bed and lightly stroking a hand down his cheek.

“What was that for?” Garak asked, tipping his head.

“For you,” he said with a soft smile and a shrug. He knew that if he said more, Garak would take it as pity and close off immediately. He didn't want that. What he did want scared him a little. He didn't think before his ordeal that he'd get to such a place emotionally so quickly. “How determined are you not to tax me?” he asked, his voice dipping into an intimate register without his even trying.

“Quite,” Garak answered firmly. “Even more so after hearing what it is you went through. What you need is plenty of rest, plenty of fluids, and time to recuperate your energy.”

Julian knew that look. He knew he had best be damned persuasive, or he'd get nowhere. “Yes,” he said quietly, “physically, that is what I need, and as a doctor, believe it or not, I do know how to take care of myself.” He made sure to smile so that Garak would know he wasn't chiding him. “There's something else I need more, though,” he said, leaning forward to take both gray hands in his and squeeze. He stroked his thumbs lightly over the backs of the hands, never anything less than fascinated with how much the texture changed depending upon the direction of the stroke. “I need you. I want you...in...in me.” His eyes shifted focus with Garak's, eye to eye, left to right, as he willed the Cardassian to understand what he meant.

“Julian,” Garak breathed his name on the barest exhale. “It can be painful, particularly the first time when you've never done such a thing before. After all you've already been through and with all those bruises on your back...”

He squeezed his hands tighter to shush him. “I know what I'm asking,” he said. “Please, Elim, don't make me beg.”

Garak made a small sound in his throat, leaning forward and drawing Julian into his arms. He kissed his face, small, light kisses all over, cheeks, lips, chin, and eyelids as he said, “Never, my dear. I'd never be so cruel. If you're sure, we'll do this, but I fully expect that if I hurt you too much, you will stop me.” He pulled back to fix him with a stern gaze.

“I promise,” he said, and he meant it.

“Wait here,” the older man told him, rising from his place and retreating into the sitting room beyond. When he returned, he held a small tub of something in his hand. He set it on the night stand beside the bed and sat on the edge of the bed next to Julian.

“What is that?” the doctor asked.

“Something we'll need later,” he said a bit cryptically. “I had to tweak the replicator a little bit. I'll make sure it's set properly again before I leave.” He lifted Julian's hand closest to him and stroked his fingers over the back and the palm, spreading the long tan fingers and massaging the webbing between each one. 

Julian watched the slow, gentle motions, mesmerized as much by the sight as the sensation. He had long known that Garak had dexterous hands, even before he began experiencing the pleasure of them first hand. This took things to a whole new level. “Are you trying to put me to sleep?” he asked playfully. It was unbelievably relaxing, erotic, too, but in his current state, he could just as easily lie back and slumber as follow through with his own request.

Garak answered his question by pressing a kiss to his palm, lifting liquid blue eyes to meet his gaze as he did so. He shivered lightly and shivered again when those lips moved to his wrist and he felt a gentle graze of teeth across the thin skin there. He ran a cool hand slowly upward, pushing back the loose pajama sleeve and exposing his sensitive inner arm. His lips followed in the wake of his hand, tongue tip darting out to taste and tease.

“All right,” Julian moaned. “I'm in no danger of falling asleep now.” For all of Garak's many protestations that he was unfamiliar with human anatomy, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, finding spots that Julian never would have believed could be erogenous and proving him wrong beyond any shadow of doubt. He was already panting, and Garak hadn't even removed his pajama top.

When he did, he took it a button at a time, using his teeth and tongue. Julian took the opportunity to delve his fingers deep into the man's thick hair, something he loved to do and didn't get to indulge nearly often enough. He tipped his head back, giving access to the hollow of his throat. Garak swept it with his tongue and pressed lush, full kisses upward toward his ear, suckling his earlobe and tracing all along the outer shell. His breath was warm and heavy, breaking Julian out in goose flesh. He had to have that mouth on his, to taste the very slightly raspy tongue, to feel himself penetrated in one way since Garak was being so damned casual about taking his time. He took the Cardassian's face in both hands and kissed him greedily, drawing his lower lip outward and raking it with his teeth.

Although Garak answered his passion in kind, it didn't make him rush. He broke the kiss, only to push the doctor back firmly onto the bed, the pajama top gaping open and exposing his chest and stomach. The bottoms were prominently tented and already showing wet from Julian's exponentially increasing state of arousal. The Cardassian leaned over him, kissing and biting a line down the center of his chest, seizing a nipple between his sharp teeth, and flicking with his tongue until the younger man was writhing and squirming. “Please,” Julian panted. “Please, Elim...soon. You said you wouldn't make me beg.”

Garak lifted his gaze, his chin resting on Julian's chest. The gleam in his eyes was wicked. “I'm doing what you asked,” he said, his voice rich in his desire. “I never said I'd hurry.”

He groaned, lowering his hands to either side and twisting them in the under sheet of his bed. “You're killing me,” he protested, half meaning it. The tailor had never taken him like this, never made him wait so long. He ground the back of his head into his pillow when Garak reached his belly button, circling it with his tongue until Julian thought he'd explode and then delving inward. He cried out shamelessly, aching for him in a way he wouldn't have believed possible before then.

He almost sobbed his relief when he felt the man's fingers in his elastic waistband, carefully lifting the bottoms over his throbbing manhood and whisking the pants off of him. He should have known better. The wicked man assiduously avoided the obvious, instead spreading his legs and giving tender ministrations to his inner thighs and then the backs of his knees.  _Is it possible to squirm out of one's own skin?_  He wondered dizzily.

When Garak worked his way back upward, he settled his hands to the back of each knee, carefully spreading Julian wider and exposing him fully. He knelt lower on the bed, and Julian looked up at him, stilling from the weight of his gaze. There was want, yes, burning desire, but in that moment, he saw more. He caught a glimpse, only a glimpse, of his dear Elim unmasked. In later years, when he thought of need, of heat, of love, he would think of the color blue, not red, and of that one searing glimpse into a magnificent heart of flame.

Garak's mouth on his most hidden, tender parts drove all cogent thought from his mind. By the time he saw him strip himself and reach for the mysterious tub on the bedside, he was little more than a quivering mass of need and appetite. He felt something cool and slightly numbing being rubbed on and into him. Once more, the tailor took his time being thorough, starting with one finger and easing up to two. Julian's eyes rolled back in his head. He hardly recognized his voice as his own. He started to protest when he felt the fingers withdraw, stopped when he felt something much hotter and slick in their place.

It was hard to focus, but he had to see his lover's face. The scales were darker, particularly along his neck, and his eyes were black rimmed with coldfire blue. “Tell me when to stop,” he said thickly, pressing his hips forward. In a matter of moments, the doctor understood the benefit of the numbing cream. Even with it, he was quickly stretched to discomfort and then pain. He gasped and tensed. Garak froze, giving him time to adjust. “Breathe with me, dear,” he said softly. “Slow inhales and exhales.”

He rode the smooth voice and found himself relaxing. The pain eased, and he nodded, his hair drenched with sweat and clinging to his pillow. “I'm all right now,” he breathed. “More, please.”

The tailor gave him what he asked for, tenderly, carefully. After another pause for him to regain his composure, he heard him say, “I'm in all the way.”

“Come to me,” he said, beckoning. “Cover me. I want to kiss you again.”

Garak shifted his weight as he leaned forward, using his powerful arms to either side of Julian to position himself so that there would be no sudden jolts. With his weight pressing downward like that, it was almost too much. Instead of kissing him, Julian sank his teeth into the flared ridge beneath his ear to avoid crying out. The effect was instantaneous and remarkable, the Cardassian's entire body wracked by a heavy spasm. “Julian,” he said, sounding choked, “if you keep doing that, I don't think I'll be able to control myself for long. I don't want to hurt you.”

He eased the pressure of his teeth and licked teasingly over the spot he had bitten. “Sorry,” he said, not feeling it in the slightest.

“You'll have to forgive me if I doubt your sincerity,” Garak said, turning his head to capture his lips in a heated kiss. When he seemed certain that he wasn't hurting his partner, he rocked his hips in slow, even strokes. His belly scales raked Julian's stone hard sex, the build of heat and friction too much for the doctor. He came in wracking spasms, adding to the slippery mix of sweat and the Cardassian's copious moisture. Much to his surprise, he never went soft, his pleasure instead immediately starting to build again. Garak had to know that would happen. It must have been why he keyed him up to such fever pitch in the first place.

He tangled both hands in the hair at the back of Garak's head, the two holding one another's gaze. He realized with a shiver that there was only one other person he had ever actually made love to. He had thought that when it happened again, if it happened again, it would be another remarkable woman, not a man, not like this. Against all better judgment and sense, against his lover's frequent advice, he found himself opening wide, yearning toward him. He felt he could drown in those eyes, lose himself and never fully return. What did secrets matter, his or Garak's, when they could touch like this?  _I love you,_  he thought fiercely, only holding his tongue because he knew the man wouldn't be able to accept it yet. It was just one more secret, one he could express in every touch if he chose, and he knew that he would, every chance he got. If Garak were even half as perceptive as he seemed, perhaps on some level, he would understand.

Garak's eyes slid shut. A moment later, Julian felt him pulsing hot and wet deep within him, the man's groan vibrating him bone deep. The doctor continued to squirm and thrust until he finished himself a second time, only then stilling and holding the tailor's lax weight atop him with a wrap of arms and legs. He nuzzled him cheek to cheek and ear to ear, murmuring softly, “I don't want to wake up alone in bed in the morning. I want you to stay.”

“I will,” Garak said, turning to press a soft kiss.

Hoping he stayed in a pliant mood, he added, “I want something else that I know you aren't going to like. I'm tired of keeping this a secret.”

He quickly gave up trying to hold Garak atop him. It was no use. He was stronger and determined. The Cardassian rolled to the side and sat up, planting his feet on the floor. “Julian,” he said, sounding exasperated.

“What?” he asked, rolling to his side to face him. “What's so wrong with wanting to be able to talk about us to my friends? Why are you so against it? Are you ashamed of us?”

Garak jerked his head back, giving him a regal profile. “Do you really think that?” he demanded reproachfully.

He sighed, wondering how they could go from such an intimate moment to being at loggerheads within the blink of an eye. “If you'd give me a reason, I wouldn't have to come up with my own,” he said, pushing up to an elbow.

“Yours are so creative,” he said spitefully. “I'd hate to deprive myself of the inner working of your insecurities. The answer is right in front of your face. It's not my fault you'd rather indulge yourself instead of see it.”

He had learned enough about Garak to know that when he started such deliberate provocation he was usually hurt or trying to distract him from something. Instead of taking the bait, he gave it hard thought. What logical reason could Garak have for not wanting him to talk about them? Cardassians were insular, some of them even xenophobic. That couldn't be true of Garak, or he wouldn't be in his bedroom right now. Other Cardassians? But there were no other Cardassians on the station.  _And yet Tain knew a great deal about me, down to my tea preference. Of course! Tain!_  He sat up, wonderfully sore but no longer focused on his body. “You're worried that Tain will find out,” he said. “That's it, isn't it?”

“You don't know him,” Garak said softly. “You don't know how spiteful, how dangerous he can be. If he decides to go for you, I won't be able to protect you, not for long.”

“I don't want you to protect me,” he said, caressing Garak's shoulder. “This is my decision to make, my risk to take if I choose. I'm...beyond flattered...that you're this concerned, but I have a say in this, too.”

“You and your Federation ideals of democracy,” Garak snorted without real heat. He did look exasperated, however.

He smiled and leaned to press a kiss to the back of his neck. “I want to be able to share this with my friends. Not...details. I'd never violate your privacy like that, but you're important to me. This is important to me, and it's marvelous, not some dirty little secret. If I want to hold your hand in public, I should be able to. No more hiding. Not this, not us. All right? You let me and Starfleet worry about my safety.”

“Starfleet,” Garak said derisively. “You have to promise me you'll start being more careful,” he added earnestly. “Find out who's at your door before you open it. Pay attention to who's around you on the Promenade and in Quark's. Occasionally look behind you when you walk. In particular, be wary of other Cardassians. Promise me!”

“I promise,” he said. “I'll take your hints and tips to heart. I know you're worried, but that level of paranoia isn't healthy.”

“That level of paranoia is the only thing that has kept me breathing all these years,” Garak countered. “I'd like it if you continued breathing, too. In fact, I'll take it very personally if you stop.”

“How personally?” he asked coyly. The tailor grunted in response and stood. “I was teasing,” Julian said quickly.

“I know. I need to relieve myself, if that's all right with you in our little democracy of two?” he asked archly.

“I'll be waiting for you,” he said, lying back again and pulling the covers aside to make room for him. Garak didn't make him wait long. With both of them exhausted, they fell asleep easily and slept straight through until morning. 

**Part II**

_Garak  
Replimat Café_

Although he knew that Julian was thrilled with their relationship out in the open, Garak was not. Every public display of affection, however slight, had him looking over his shoulder and scrutinizing every face he even thought might be turning in their direction. Quark made much of them, downright pushy about his holosuite programs. He had started to believe that the shrewd businessman had a genuine soft spot when it came to romance, something he would never have believed of Quark before seeing it directed their way. The reactions of Julian's fellow officers were much less favorable, with those who had been neutral toward him before seeming more hostile and those who had been hostile turning sometimes nasty. He told Julian none of this simply because the man was genuinely happy.  _You're getting sentimental in your old age,_  he thought. Where was Julian, anyway?

He decided that he must have gotten tied up in the infirmary, so he left their table to order his lunch. Bit by bit, he was managing to win his lover over to the pleasures of Cardassian food, explaining that much like some Terran cheeses, the smell and the taste were not the same. It would've been so much easier, he believed, if he had more than replicated food to work with. He returned to the table with his sem'hal stew and began to eat. The doctor joined him when he was close to halfway through, his expression promising a storm. Garak knew that it was best simply to wait him out in such moods. After standing and offering his palm to press in greeting, he said nothing and continued to eat.

Instead of fetching a food tray, Julian flung himself into his chair opposite Garak with his arms folded and glared at him. True to form, he couldn't stay quiet for long. “How long have you known?” he asked flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” Garak asked, blinking at him. His bafflement was no mere act. He didn't have a clue what the man was talking about.

“About Chief O'Brien,” the doctor pressed.

Garak set his spoon aside and carefully wiped his mouth on his napkin. “What is it that I am to have known about the Chief?” he asked mildly.

“Oh, stop it,” he said, unfolding his arms and leaning forward. “What I can't decide is if you actually set it up, or if you just let it happen.”

The older Cardassian felt his patience wearing a tad thin. He loved games as much if not more than most of his people, but he didn't enjoy vague accusations when he had no idea what they were about. “Well, which seems more likely to you?” he asked.

“I doubt you have the influence to set it up,” Julian said spitefully, “so I'll just go with you let it happen.”

He gave a mocking smile. The dear man was learning. That first remark was almost worthy of a Cardassian. “Since you already have it figured out, why are we even having this conversation?” he asked and lifted his spoon again.

Julian stood abruptly and leaned over the table, gripping it with both hands. “I can't figure out why,” he said angrily. “Why would you allow such a thing? The only reason you're not being asked this in a holding cell is because I asked them to let me try to get to the bottom of it first.”

“Don't do me any favors,” Garak said tartly. “If your Federation superiors want me in a holding cell, well then, you had best take me there, hadn't you?” He glared ice across the table, his patience with whatever Julian was playing at having come to an end.

“You really don't care, do you?” he asked, his voice rising.

“Doctor,” he retorted, “I'd find it much easier to care if I knew what you were talking about.”

After glaring at him for several long moments, he seemed to decide he'd get nothing out of him that way. Sitting back down, he folded his arms again and said, “Fine. We'll play this your way. Chief O'Brien is currently being held on Cardassia Prime pending a trial. Does that jog your memory any?”

He was surprised; long habit prevented him from showing it. “No,” he said, “I can't say that it does. On trial for what?”

“Supposedly supporting the Maquis,” he answered. “Don't think that just because I'm playing along with you that I don't believe you already know about this.”

“Your paranoia is commendable,” he said approvingly. “I assume there's evidence to support this charge?”

“You know there is, and if they find him guilty...”

“If?” Garak asked, appalled. “My dear Doctor, have you learned nothing at all from reading all of that literature I've been gifting to you for nearly three years now? Everyone who goes before a court in Cardassia is guilty. If your Chief is there on trial, that's a foregone conclusion.”

“You can't let this happen,” he said, his frustration and worry obvious.

“As you already pointed out,” Garak replied, “my influence on Cardassia is hardly what it was. Whether you believe me or not, I'm sorry about your friend. The best thing that you can do is to adapt to the idea of what is about to happen to him and move on with your life.”

“I can't believe you! You mean that, don't you? That I'm just to give up, grieve, and go about my business. Well, I have no intention of doing that. I don't believe for one instant that Miles would ever do anything like this.”

“Please,” Garak snorted.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Ignorance can be remedied, but there is no cure for deliberate blindness,” he answered cryptically. “If you're not going to eat, then please leave me to finish my lunch in peace.”

“No, for once, I'm not going to just kowtow to anything you say. I want to know what you meant by that remark. Why do you believe the Chief would support a terrorist organization?” he asked.

Garak stared glacially at him in response, taking a very deliberate bite of his stew.

“Look,” the doctor said in a more conciliatory tone of voice, “I know he doesn't exactly like Cardassians...”

“That's one of the things I enjoy about you,” the tailor interrupted him. “Your delightful penchant for understatement.” He smiled broadly.

Undaunted, Julian continued. “That doesn't mean he'd throw away his entire career to support illegal activity against them. I know this man. I know how he feels about his family and his job. I know his ethics. This is not him. If you really had nothing to do with this, then please, help me help him.”

“You're asking me to work against my government to help yours, as what, a personal favor to you because of our relationship?” Garak asked incredulously. “And you claim you care about me.” He pushed to his feet, his appetite gone. “I don't want to talk to you again until the situation is resolved one way or the other.” He pressed his lips together. “Regardless of how little you share my values, I thought that you at least understood and accepted where my loyalties lie. If you don't or can't, then don't talk to me after the resolution either, because we'll have nothing left to say.”

He stalked away with as much dignity as he could muster while feeling gut punched. He had feared that eventually they might run into such a situation, where their governments were at odds. However, he had never seriously considered that the doctor would ask him to betray his own people. No matter how much trouble he had trusting others, he believed that Julian was intelligent enough and sensitive enough to understand that some lines couldn't be crossed, regardless of feelings. Unlike Julian he didn't have as much trouble believing that Chief O'Brien may have done exactly what he was being accused of, given some of the things he had said to Garak in private once he found out about the relationship. His race hatred and bias had been palpable in every word. Actually guilty or innocent, it didn't matter. The Cardassian state was a machine that ground those in its cogs to powder. No amount of sentiment would change that.

He entered his shop and closed and locked the doors. He didn't feel like pretending to be friendly to customers in his black mood. He had inventory to take, an exacting task that would easily fill the rest of his afternoon. He set about it methodically, shunting aside his hurt and outrage. It was hard not to appreciate the irony that this shop, designed by then Prefect Dukat to be his humiliation in his exile, had turned into the salvation of his sanity and dignity. Against all odds, he was finally turning a profit, not relying on the charity of the Starfleeters to make his living. He had thrown himself into it at the beginning of his exile, when the station was still known as Terok Nor. He could do it again if necessary until he managed to exorcise his inexplicable weakness for the doctor. The only question that remained to him in that moment was would it be necessary?

At the end of the day, he left his stock room. Quark stood just beyond his doors, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck to peer inside. Garak made a soft sound of annoyance. He hadn't taken the Ferengi seriously when he said he might come by for a fitting some time that week. It was the vague sort of thing Quark always said to grease the social wheels. Garak strode to the front of the shop and opened the doors. “I'm...”

“Closed, yes,” Quark interrupted him, “and your doctor was in my bar earlier looking as glum as Morn at last call. Naturally, I put two and two together and decided that what you two need is an intervention.”

“That's very kind of you, but unnecessary,” Garak said smoothly. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some lint to brush this evening.”

Quark tsked. “Garak, you're forgetting that I've been in a relationship with a Cardassian. You people put up a good front, but underneath all the cold denials and stiff lips beat hearts as sensitive and tender as the rest of us.”

Stepping out of his shop and closing and locking his doors, Garak graced Quark with his most saccharine of smiles. “Mm, yes, funny that you should say that, because 'sensitive' and 'tender' are of course just the words that come to mind when the name 'Quark' is mentioned in conversation. I'm sure your brother Rom would agree.”

Quark put a hand to his chest and fell into step beside Garak as he began a brisk walk toward the turbolift. “You wound me,” he said. “I love my brother despite our differences. Can't the same be said of you and Doctor Bashir, love in spite of differences?”

“I think you've been attending too many of your own holosuite programs,” Garak said, never slowing even though the much shorter man was having to trot to keep up with him.

“I think you haven't attended enough,” Quark said brightly. “What a marvelous idea, Garak! I can set you up with one. I'll even offer you a discount in the name of smoothing over your rough spot.”

“I knew that's what this was about,” the Cardassian said, rolling his eyes. “I'm not interested, Quark; now please go away before I decide to get testy.”

Quark stopped walking and raised his voice, saying to Garak's back, “You're wrong. Love is rare enough in this universe, but something like what you and the doctor have is almost unheard of. Haven't you ever read 'Romeo and Juliet'?”

Garak stopped then, turning on the Ferengi with a cold, measured stare. “As a matter of fact, I have,” he said with deceptive mildness. “You seem to have forgotten they both die in the end.”

Given that his hearing wasn't the best, he didn't know if he actually heard or imagined the muttered response. “But it was a beautiful death.” He took the turbolift alone, his outward calm belying his inner turmoil. What was he doing, sleeping with the enemy? Make no mistake. Starfleet was the enemy, and if Julian couldn't separate his personal life from his professional one, then he had to be counted in the enemy camp.  _As always, Elim, you leaped before you looked. You gave in to sentiment when you knew better. How many times does that make now, three? Twice with the same person! Why did you think the third time with someone new would be the charm?_

He stepped off the lift at his corridor and walked toward his quarters. He and Julian were always butting heads in one way or another, which was natural and to be expected of two strong-willed, very different individuals sharing space and relating closely. Usually, he enjoyed the fights, but this felt like cruel betrayal, a strike at the very heart of what made him who he was. It hurt to have thought he was understood at a very basic level only to find that not only was he not, but that the very thing he prized the most about himself his lover found contemptible.

He let himself into his quarters and changed his lock code. It didn't matter to him that Julian could override it with a medical emergency code. If he wanted to get to Garak uninvited, that was exactly what he'd have to do, and Garak would in turn file a complaint against him for abuse of his position. He took little satisfaction in something so petty, but that was better than no satisfaction at all.

He was skilled, adept in fact, at going about his business regardless of his internal emotional state. One of the things Quark had said about his people was entirely true. They were almost unsurpassed at making others see exactly what they wished for them to see, nothing more, nothing less. He didn't close his shop again or treat his customers any differently or any less professionally than he ever had over the next few days. He still lunched at the Replimat. The few times he saw Julian, he looked through him as though he wasn't even there, and despite the strong temptation to do so, he avoided using any of his contacts to discover the status of Chief O'Brien's trial on Cardassia. As far as he was concerned, it was never a matter of if the Chief would be executed, only a matter of when. If the trial was still ongoing, Julian's lack of contact with him was his way of doing as he had been asked. If the trial was already over and he was still avoiding him, then it meant that they would never speak again. He tried to be dispassionate about the second possibility without much success.

Mid-afternoon of the third day after the fight, someone he never expected to see in his shop walked through his door. Lieutenant Dax nodded a cool greeting his way and began to examine his wares. As he would with anyone else, he said, “Do let me know if there's anything I can help you with, Lieutenant.”

“I will,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Garak.”

“Oh, please, just Garak,” he said reflexively.

She nodded and continued to look. He watched her without seeming to do so, wondering what her real reason for being there might be. He didn't believe for an instant that she wanted to buy something. She lifted a flowing, one shouldered dress from one of the racks and held it up to the light. “This is really beautiful,” she said, turning to him. “I have to confess, I'm not always the best judge of what looks best on me. Do you think I can pull off this color?”

Garak eyed the pale rose silk with a critical eye. “I'm afraid it would wash out your complexion,” he said. “You'd do well to stick to a bolder palette.” She put the dress back, caressing one hand down it a little regretfully. “If you really like the style,” he offered, “I can help you choose a fabric and make one for you.”

“I'd like that,” she said, surprising him. “Can you take my measurements in my uniform?”

“Of course,” he said, pulling his tape measure from beneath the counter and walking over to her. “This won't take long.”

As she allowed herself to be measured, she said casually, “You know, occasionally I wonder if I made a mistake in letting Julian get away. Please, don't tell him I said that.” She smiled disarmingly.

Garak committed each figure to memory, his hands quick and precise with the measure. “I wouldn't dream of it,” he said lightly.

“I suppose it is hard to tell someone something when you're not speaking to him,” she said just as lightly.

He bent to take her inseam and stood. “If you have a point to make, Lieutenant, I'm sure I'd love to hear it,” he said, irritated that she thought she had the right to butt into his business at all.

“Curzon had quite the eye for the young ladies,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “He appreciated their unbridled enthusiasm and zest for life, but one of the things he constantly wrestled with was their lack of life experience. No matter how much he tried to advise them or help them, they usually insisted on doing things their way and made embarrassing and sometimes costly mistakes. He found in the end that the best approach was to let them live their lives but to be open if they decided to come to their senses.”

“How interesting,” he said in a way that he knew would convey just the opposite. He rolled up his tape measure and quickly input Dax's measurements into his computer. “Let me get you some swatches.” He felt her eyes on his back as he retreated to the stock room. He didn't need some young woman with a worm in her gut telling him how to conduct his affairs. She hadn't even lived those experiences herself. He found it very presumptuous.

When he returned, he opened the swatch book on the top of his counter to the appropriate section of material. “What color range do you like?” he asked.

“I have a weakness for greens and reds,” she confessed.

“Not together, I hope,” he said, glancing at her.

She laughed easily. “No, not together. Some people say any cool and warm clash. Do you agree with that?”

“No, I don't,” he replied, warming to the subject. “It all depends on the quantity and proportion of each, the shade; there are many factors that determine whether colors will complement or clash. Cool and warm has nothing to do with it.”

“I'm glad you think so,” she said. “It probably took you years of practice really to grasp that well.”

As he met her light blue gaze, he realized she had managed to trick him into subtext, no easy feat. His respect for her inched higher. “Not as long as you might think,” he said. “It's amazing what one can accomplish if one just sets the will and mind to it.”

She covered his hand lightly with hers. He only just avoided acting on the impulse to snatch his hand back. His species' natural aversion to casual touch from those not close to them was much stronger in him due to his training and experiences. “He loves you,” she said simply. “He's young, and idealistic, and he has a lot to learn. Believe it or not, I think you're good for him, Garak. Even though I don't know you very well, I'd wager that he's also good for you. I'd hate to see either of you make an avoidable mistake.”

“I'm surprised to hear such sentiments from a Starfleet officer,” he said, directing a pointed glance down at her hand.

She squeezed lightly and released him. “I'm not speaking as a Starfleet officer. I'm speaking as somebody who has kicked around the quadrant more than a few lifetimes and who considers Julian a friend. Anyone he could love as much as he loves you has to have more than a mysterious past and a gift for the gab going for him to move him like that. I'd like to get to know you better, regardless of how things turn out for the two of you, but mostly, I'd actually like to see them work out.”

“I don't know if that will be possible,” he said. “There's more at stake than sentiment here. If he has spoken to you about this, then you're already aware of that.”

“He made a mistake,” she said bluntly. “He should never have asked of you what he asked. He knows that now, and the only reason he hasn't come to tell you that himself is because you told him to stay away. Garak, you're a tailor,” she said gently. “You know better than most that a rip will only get worse the longer it goes without mending. As the older—and wiser, I hope—of the two of you, sometimes you're going to have to swallow your pride and do the mature thing, even when you're in the right and he's not.”

He took a slow inhale, not enjoying the sensation of having to admit that she was right. “I think this lovely shade of teal would suit you very well,” he said, setting a fingertip to one of the swatches. “It will bring out your eyes.”

She graced him with an ambiguous smile and nodded. “I trust your judgment,” she said. “I can't wait to see how it turns out.”

He realized that the Chief's situation must not have yet reached resolution after his conversation with Dax. He wasn't sure that it would be such a good time to approach the doctor while he still worried over the fate of his close friend. However, if he waited until afterward, Julian's anger at his government might be too much to overcome. He closed up shop and approached the infirmary with no small degree of trepidation. When he stepped inside, he saw Julian at one of the work stations, apparently entering data. A couple of other staff members circulated on their own business. He cleared his throat.

Julian turned, unable to hide his surprise and anxiety, his brow creasing. He gestured Garak toward the back and fell into step behind him, closing the office door once both of them were inside. “Have...have you heard something I haven't?” he asked, his voice taut with concern.

“What?” Garak asked. “Oh, no,” he said quickly. “I haven't heard anything about the trial. Dax came by the shop today.” The man's instantaneous expression of irritation and chagrin convinced Garak that Julian hadn't sent her. The tension in him eased slightly. He hadn't liked the notion that Julian would use a proxy to get around the condition he set for their communication.

“Dax has a big mouth,” he said, turning away to fidget with something on his desk.

“I can see why you chased her for so long,” Garak said.

“What? You can?” he turned then, frowning at Garak. “I was under the distinct impression that you don't like any of my friends.”

“I didn't say I like her,” he said, more out of habit than anything else. He grimaced slightly. He couldn't afford to be his usual irascible self, not if he intended to follow the Trill's unsolicited yet sound advice. “Although in time, I believe that I could,” he added.

“What do you want, Garak? I'm busy,” he said gruffly.

Garak considered his answer very carefully before speaking. “I want to know,” he said, reaching to turn Julian to face him, “that we're not doomed to share the fate of those people in that wretched play you like so much. As much as I hate it, there are more than a few disturbing parallels. You may think the whole idea of star crossed lovers is romantic, but the harsh reality is that they die. I can't find anything to love about that, that two people defy their respective families out of sentiment and pay with their lives. I'm no Romeo, and I'm certainly no Juliet. I'm not willing to go that far,” he said, his gaze burning. “Is that the only definition of love that matters to you? Self-destructive insanity?”

Julian swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. “No,” he said quietly, his eyes softening as he took both of Garak's hands in his own. “I don't want Miles to die,” he said, “but I had no right to ask you to risk yourself for him. I never knew...” He trailed off then tried again. “The person who came here to plant evidence against Miles is actually a Cardassian. He was disguised as someone Miles knew in the war, and he had everyone fooled for a long time. For the first time, I feel as though I understand some of what I always thought of as your paranoia, and I feel very...small... for what I asked you to do. I wanted to tell you this yesterday, but I felt that the least I could do after...betraying you that way...was to respect your wishes. Can you forgive me?”

“I wouldn't be here right now if I couldn't,” he said. “You have to understand that where Cardassia is concerned...”

“I know,” Julian stopped him. “I can't promise that there will never come a time that either of us has to choose duty over love, but I won't be the one to put you in that position again. I do love you, Elim. I've avoided saying it before now, because I honestly don't know that you feel the same way, or even if you ever will.”

He was quite certain that he didn't, at least not in the way that the young human meant. He didn't even know if he was capable of the same degree of sentiment. All of this ran through his mind lightning quick, but he could bring himself to say none of it. He frowned uncomfortably.

“The point is,” Julian pressed on gamely, lifting his hands and kissing the backs of his knuckles, “my feelings aren't predicated on yours. I know you care. You've shown me in more ways than I deserve given how I treated you. It's enough. It's enough for me that you let me love you and that you don't push me away for it. If that's all we ever have,” his voice wavered slightly before he regained control of it, “then it will be enough. I love who you are, not who I wish you were or who I think you can be, and if what I did made you think either of those things, I can't apologize strongly enough.”

He didn't deserve this dear man. He felt so old in that moment, so irredeemably tainted. How could Julian think he loved him for who he was when he didn't know who he was? How would the compassionate healer feel knowing the hands he held and kissed so tenderly were so stained with blood they would never come clean? He wanted to rail at him and confront him with all of the ugliness of what service to the state really meant when it came to people like himself, but he found his tongue frozen and his words bottled beneath a knot in his throat. He had been humbled to helpless silence, and all he could do was to stand there and let his hands be held.

“You look so sad,” Julian said, giving his hands a squeeze and pulling him into his embrace. “If I do nothing else for you in this life, one day I hope to at least change that.”

At last, he had something to which he could respond without weeping. “You already have,” he said, returning the embrace without reserve. At least in that, he told the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on LiveJournal Dec. 11, 2009. The time frame of this story encompasses the DS9 episodes "Crossover" and "Tribunal." If you haven't seen the show and you want to know more about what is referenced regarding the episodes, good summaries can be found at the website Memory Alpha. I made the decision not to include much of the actual episodes within the story for the sake of not being redundant for those who are familiar with the show. The story begins right where my story “Slow Burn” left off but makes sense as a stand-alone.


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